lords prayer said and the anthem sang
by tombombadillo
Summary: Two days past eighteen, he was waiting for the bus in his army greens, sat down in a booth at a café there, gave his order to a girl with a bow in her hair.
1. Chapter 1

**This was originally going to be one-shot, but after almost 3K and just two verses gone, I decided to make it a two-shot instead. This is an AU based on the song Travelling Soldier by Dixie Chicks, and it's sad (so very sad) but it's such a beautiful song and I've always wanted to do something with it, so.**

* * *

_Two days past eighteen, he was waiting for the bus in his army greens_

_Sat down in a booth at a café there, gave his order to a girl with a bow in her hair_

_He's a little shy so she gives him a smile and he says would you mind sitting down for a while_

_And talking to me, I'm feeling a little low, she said I'm off in an hour_

_And I know where we can go_

* * *

With a clear blue sky, the sun beating down on the streets of New York, the heat a seemingly unbreakable barrier, Rick Castle is not entirely sure why he's making himself do this. It's not normal for April, this stifling warmth that makes the air feel like treacle, hoarding the people into their homes with their air conditioning and their freezers. For once, the city is quiet. Resting. Except him. He's trudging along the deserted sidewalk, his army greens a heavy weight on his shoulders. He can see the bus stop in the distance, a bus idling next to it, spewing an unhealthy amount of grey smog up into the air. But, he's not in any rush. No time constraints. He just needs to be there by tomorrow, and that's fine. More time to spend in his city, more time to reflect on what he's actually doing. Leaving his life, his friends and the shredded remains of his family, to go and fight a war on the other side of the world. He's well aware that this could possible be the last time that he sets his eye on the majestic skyline, the block of the Empire State Building, the shining beacon of hope that is the Lady Liberty. And strangely enough, he's okay with that. He's come to terms with it, but it doesn't mean he can't appreciate it one last time.

There's a cliché American diner across the road and even though it looks like it has seen better day, it's fairly crowded. Either it's better than it looks, or people are just that desperate to get out of the heat. The door jangles cheerfully as he pushes it open, the majority of the faces turning slightly to see who it is before going back to their ice cold soda floats and fries. He finds an empty booth, and shrugs off his bag, leaving it on the opposite bench before sliding onto the bright red leather seating. The material is almost uncomfortably warm beneath his fingers but it's comfy, welcoming almost. There's a few heads swivelled in his direction, no doubt questioning his current state of attire. But that's okay. He's used to the confused stares.

"Hi, are you ready to order?"

Rick looks from the menu that's inlaid on the tale and up to his waitress. She's young, couldn't be a couple of years younger than him, caramel coloured hair that falls down her back in curls, tied back with a white ribbon that has been knotted perfectly into a bow. "I – um, coffee. Please. Milk, no sugar."

She smiles at him, small and sweet, a row of pearly white teeth that are ever so close to biting her lower lip. "One coffee, milk, no sugar. Anything else? We've got a special on pancakes."

He shakes his head politely, looks down at his hands clasped on the table. "Just the coffee, thanks."

"Coming right up."

Rick nods, slightly distracted as the bus finally pulls away from the stop, rushing away with a roar of its engine, only half of his attention on the waitress as she walks back over to the white topped counter. Another woman, maybe five years his senior is looking between the two of them with a sparkle in her eye, making some kind of teasing remark that the girl brushes off with a high and clear laugh.

She's back again in a couple of minutes, large mug of coffee on a tray, sat next to a plate of pancakes piled high with whipped cream and strawberries. She slides them both onto the table in front of him. "It's on the house. The pancakes. The boss says you deserve them."

"I do?"

"Sure. You're going, aren't you? To 'Nam." She's looking at him with a mix of fear, apprehension and pride.

"Yeah, I suppose. I have to do training first though."

The girl nods her understanding and then gestures to the pancakes. "Well, then you're going to need all the energy you can get. Go on, eat. They're good." She tosses him a wink as she walks away again, going to the next table of customers that are asking for drink refills.

They do look good, he won't deny, and they taste even better. He didn't think he was hungry, too hyped on adrenalin and nerves to even think about eating. But he eats them, and he drinks his coffee and before he knows it she's back again, holding up the percolator in the universal sign of _do you want some more_? He shakes his head, but she sets the jug down on the table and sits down opposite him. "Are you okay?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"I know, it's kind of stupid. But some people sign up for this because it's what they want to do, they want to go and fight for their country. But some others they don't want to go, they do it because they don't have anything else to do. Nothing else to live for. Their only option. You don't want to go, not really. I don't pretend to be an expert in these things, I'm just a Junior in high school who works in a diner, but I've seen a lot of people come through here."

"And I look like a sad pathetic eighteen year old too scared to get on a bus?"

"No, I didn't think that. You've got balls to actually sign up, I'd never do that. Hell, I'm petrified thinking about thinking about college, let alone actually applying and going. I mean, going to war is a lot more terrifying than college."

"Everyone's fears are different."

"Not when it comes to war." She fills his coffee cup up, even though he'd waved her off and then slides herself back off the seat. "Look, I'm off in an hour. Stick around for a bit, we'll go somewhere proper where we can talk and my boss won't get angry at me for ignoring customers."

He looks at her carefully, glancing across at the bus stop. There'll be another bus in half an hour, he could finish his coffee and be just gone and he would never have to be in this city again. But… being able to talk, he'd like that too.

* * *

_So they went down and they sat on the pier, he said I bet you got a boyfriend but I don't care_

_I got no one to send a letter to, would you mind if I sent one back here to you_

* * *

"I come down here after work sometimes." She says as she sits down on the wooden slats and pulls off her shoes. "Even if it's raining. I'd just… sit here."

"It's a nice place."

She snorts, stripping off the top layer of her uniform and dumping it next to her."It's just a pier, not Buckingham palace."

"Well, if you want to put it that way."

She laughs and reaches up to tug on his hand, pulling him down next to her. "What's your name, anyway?"

He shrugs off his jacket and lays it down on the wood, follows her suit and pulls off his shoes."Me? I'm Richard. Or Rick. Rick Castle."

She smiles at him and pulls off her socks so she can dangle her feet in the water. "Nice to meet you, Rick Castle. I'm Kate. Kate Beckett."

"So, you live in New York?"

"Manhattan, born and bred. What about you?"

"My mom was in the theatre, we moved around a lot. But originally from here. I came back here when she died a few months back. I tried to get my life back, get a job and settle down, but it seems I was never cut out for life on my own. I'm only eighteen. I shouldn't be in this situation. So, signing up was the only thing that seemed plausible. I think I would have ended up on the streets otherwise." He gives a cynical chuckle, and tips his head back, his blue eyes reflecting the sunlight.

"Well, I think you're amazing. It takes a lot of bravery to do what you're doing, and you shouldn't let anyone tell you different."

"Well, thanks. I guess. Sometimes I lay awake at night thinking about how stupid it is. I mean, surely living on the streets wouldn't be all that bad? I'm more likely to die in Vietnam than I ever am here."

"Maybe so, but you're fighting for your country. Fighting for us." She nudges his arm with her shoulder, forces him into flashing her a charming grin. "If you've got nobody to be proud of you, then I will be."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really. Everyone needs someone to be cheering them on from the sidelines. And so I'm thousands of miles away, but the thought counts, right?"

"Yeah, it definitely counts." He turns slightly, listing his body towards her. "Listen, I don't have anyone here. And all the soldiers I know all have somebody to write home to. And I was just… wondering… you can say no, if you want, I mean I've known you for all of like two hours, but you're nice and you're pretty and you don't stare at me like I'm a freak, and…"

"You want to write me?"

"I… yeah. If you don't mind. It'd just be nice knowing that there's someone at home who I can talk to."

"Oh no, of course I don't mind! Have you got a piece of paper?"

It takes him about five minutes for him to finally drag a parcel out from his bag. It's a shirt, green and clean and only slightly dirty but it's wrapped in brown paper and it doesn't take that long to rip a piece off. Kate pulls a pen out of her hair, something he only just noticed (always keep a pen with you, she says, never know when you could need it), and he watched tentatively as she writes in neat cursive a Manhattan address. "There you go."

"Thanks. I appreciate it. A lot."

They stay there for another good hour, chatting idly about school and friends and family, watching the sun move ever so slowly across the sky. Kate can't keep her eyes off of him, the flop of his bangs over his forehead, the way his eyes reflect the sun and the sea, a constantly changing array of blues that has her captivated. He catches her staring sometimes, ducks his head away with a rising blush on his cheeks while she laughs at him. It's easy and pleasant, and for a long while he forgets that at some point today he has to leave.

"You're not going to be late, are you?" Kate asks, sounding genuinely concerned as they meander back along the docks and towards the diner and the bus stop.

"No, I don't need to be there for another few days. I've got a motel room booked."

"Okay. Good. I wouldn't want you to be yelled at because of me."

"It'd be worth it, even if I was. Don't worry, it's fine. You won't be told off for being late, will you?"

Kate shakes her head. "Nah, my parents are pretty lenient. Besides, they know I have work. Sometimes I stay late to cover shifts, or just to get a few more hours in. Every penny counts, you know."

"What are you saving up for? College?"

"Well, my Dad likes to think so. Or he pretends I am. I put some aside, just as a safety, but I'm really saving up for a motorbike."

That takes him by surprise. "A motorbike? I didn't think…"

"Not the type of girl to ride a motorbike, right? That's what my dad thinks too. Too much of a lady to be going around the city on a contraption like that. But he says I'm as stubborn as my mother, and it's my money and I'll do whatever I want with it. I earned it, fair and square, so why shouldn't I buy whatever I want?"

"You have a point. It is your money. But, really, a motorcycle?"

"You can't change my mind. I am buying one." She's fierce, and protective of her values, and he finds he likes that. A bit of fire, not someone who's going to let someone completely walk all over her.

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, raising both his eyebrows at her. "Alright, little miss spitfire. You buy your motorbike."

"I will. And you can't stop me."

"Not like I could do anything about it. I'm leaving, aren't I. Writing you letters and telling you to not buy a bike that will most likely kill you is never going to work."

"No, I doubt it will."

They can both see the back of the bus by now and he's stuck by an impending sense of doom. He's not entirely sure he can get on. Not on his own, at least. "Hey."

He jerks his head towards Kate, and she's giving him one of the biggest smiles he's ever been given. "You're going to get on that bus, and you're going to be absolutely amazing. You can do this. Okay?"

"I'm scared."

"I know. And if it was at all viable then I would come with you. But I can't. So, until the day you come back, I will cheer you on from the sidelines."

The bus driver is giving him a smile too, seemingly another person that's proud of where he's going. What he's signed himself up for. "Take all the time you need, son. Still another five minutes to go yet."

"See, that's another person proud of you. You don't need a family." Kate's pulling him over to a bench and dragging him down next to her again. They're close, the warmth of the bare skin of her leg seeping through the khaki green of his trousers. He can't help the fluttering of his heart, the way he can't stop staring at the curve of her neck, or the shadow the sun casts on her skin, the leaves from the trees an ever moving pattern on her cheek.

"That's one bus driver, Kate."

"And I'm just a girl in a diner?"

"No, that's…" he sighs, and pushes his hair away from his forehead, turning his head to watch as other people board the waiting bus, "that's not what I meant. Everyone else, they've got brothers and sisters and fathers and mothers sending them off with baskets and hugs and kisses, they send them care packages, and I should feel lucky that you agreed to send me letters, but I wish…"

"You wish you had that too. It's okay. I understand. And for what it's worth, I wish you did too. But I'd still want you to write, even if you did."

"I wouldn't dare forget. I'll write. Don't worry."

"Good." She leans against him, head pillowed on his shoulder, and it makes him jolt with surprise when her hand finds his, wraps her fingers around his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I am sat in the middle of a heatwave and I don't like it so if I ever owned Castle and had to live in LA I would just sell it and move to somewhere cold. Like Iceland.**

* * *

_So the letters came from an army camp, from California, then Vietnam_

_And he told her of his heart, it might be love, and all of the things he was so scared of_

_He said when it's getting kinda rough over here, I think of that day sittin' down by the pier_

_And I close my eyes, and see your pretty smile_

_Don't worry but I won't be able to write for a while_

The first letter he sends is from California. He doesn't think it's anything special, just telling Kate about the camp, the officers, the guys he's sharing a barrack with. His favourites, or the ones he gets on the most with, are a young Irish man who looks as if he's forged his age to get in, but he provides a certain sense of humour to an otherwise dreary place. A lot of the time, he's the butt of the jokes, but he revels in it. Sometimes does stupid things just to make everyone laugh. And then there's the Latino, the one with the supposed muscle and courage, the one who everyone wants to beat. And when he tries too hard and mucks up and gets frustrated it's all the more entertaining. And he tells her about how the weather is far hotter than it ever was in New York, how it's horrible when they're doing drills and everyone's sweaty and stinky, and he's not entirely sure which is worse, that or the ten's of men butt naked in the showers after.

And then when their training is done, when they've passed and been toughened up and taught how to shoot guns and throw grenades without injuring anyone on their team, when they know how to parachute and crawl and roll and duck, and they can march with the best, they're all piled into the back of a plane with uncomfortable canvas seats and flown across the Pacific. He loses count of how many hours that is, swaying back and forth and side to side, shoulders knocking into his neighbours until he feels like they're made of nothing but bruised tissue. And then, finally, they land and instead of being shipped off to bed, it's straight into action.

Esposito, of course, revels in it. He shoots and kills more people in the first half an hour than any of them do all day. Some would say it's maniacal, the way he can just go from one person to another, pull on the trigger and have his gun aimed at someone else before he can even be sure that the bullet hit. Most of the time he gets it spot on. Ryan surprises them all with the way he controls them. When their seniors are busy elsewhere, he's the one keeping them together, keeping Esposito under control and making sure that everyone knows what they're doing. Rick tries not to let the fear get to him, even though he can feel that anxious feeling twisting in his stomach making him want to throw up and run away and go back to New York with his head down low.

And then, when there is a lull in the fighting and he lays in his bunk trying to sleep, but every time he closes his eyes all he sees is blood and dead men, lying there with blank eyes and open mouths, torn apart by bullets and explosions, and he can't sleep. Everyone around him seems to be coping fine, they have no trouble in resting, but he lays therein the dark listening to the sound of them breathing and wondering how long it's going to be before they're breathing their last.

At times like this, he tries to think, tries to thank back a few months to New York, to the diner, and the pier, to Kate and the cool tingle of the water at his feet. He remembers the sun on her hair, turning it to a rich copper, loose curls framing her face. He remembers her smile, wide and happy. It's a beacon, something that gets him through the night terrors, through the days of combat. And then they're told that they have to pack up and move on, to go to the place where they're needed. Their commanding officer breaks the news that there'll be no postal service. No contact with the outside world.

It breaks his heart to write to Kate to tell her, and it kills him to know that he's not going to get any of her letters back. So he tells her. He shakes as he writes the words, and he doesn't even know how he knows, or whether it's even what he thinks it is.

But he tells her he loves her.

* * *

_I cried, never gonna hold the hand of another guy_

_Too young for him they told her, waiting for the love of a travelling soldier,_

_Our love will never end, waitin' for the soldier to come back again_

_Never more to be alone, when the letter said_

_A soldiers coming home_

"You're being ridiculous, Kate. He doesn't love you. You don't know him." It's an argument they've had before, and all three of them are sure that it won't be the last. It's Jim, normally, who has the most to say about the issue, who brings it up the most.

"I do know him!" Kate defends, turning a furious gaze on her parents. "And you don't know anything. You don't know!"

"Neither do you! You're only seventeen. You're young, and naïve, and you met this guy in the _diner_. He's gone off to Vietnam, and Katie, the chances of him coming back are slim. Don't get attached to him. Just let him go."

"I'm not going to just let him go. He – he needs me. He needs someone here to let him know that there is someone rooting for him. That cares! He doesn't have a family. He doesn't have anybody, just me. There's just me!"

"Katie, sweetheart," her mother interrupts, placing a calming hand on her husband's shoulder, "we just don't want to see you hurt. Just look at your cousin. She's heart-broken just having her husband over there. I don't want you to turn into her. Not crying yourself to sleep every night."

"I don't cry myself to sleep!" Kate argues back, "And I'm not married to him, nor am I my cousin."

"Katie, don't…"

"Don't what? I'm not scared! He'll come back, just you wait and see."

It's a month later, and both Johanna and Jim Beckett have given up on trying to talk their daughter out of the state she's in. It's not an easy task to do, especially in someone so stubborn, and it's even more difficult to do so when her cousins' husband returns. He's bruised and battered and haunted with nightmares, but he's home, and he's alive, and that's given Kate all the hope she needs. She has an irrefutable hope that her soldier, the man to whom she has given her heart and her soul, will return safe and sound. They're a lot more pessimistic, especially when it comes to the reports coming back from Vietnam, the images of burnt buildings and screaming people an all too real reality. There's been no letters, from California or Vietnam, which Kate is taking as good news. No news is good news, as they say.

Except then, one deceptively sunny day where the wind is bitter cold, there's a knock at the door. It's Jim who answers it, is greeted by a gruff looking man in an army suit. He sets Jim's nerve off from the first word, and he doesn't relax until the man has gone. And he's left behind a simple envelope. Plain and unassuming, addressed to Kate. Jim leaves it on the coffee table, propped up and waiting for Kate to come home from school. Both he and Johanna share uneasy looks until Kate arrives home, three hours later. She's bundled up against the weather, and it's not until she has stripped off the coat and the hat and the scarf and the gloves, does she notice it. She blindly ignores her parents cautious looks and rips it open, her eyes tearing through the words almost feverishly. And then she's silent, staring at the paper with the slightest tremor in her hands.

"Katie, sweetheart?"

"He's coming home." She whispers in the quiet of the room, all three of them barely daring to breathe. "He's coming home."

* * *

_One Friday night at a football game, the lords prayer said and the anthem sang_

_A man said folks would you bow your head for a list of the local Vietnam dead_

_Crying all alone, under the stands was a piccolo player in the marching band_

_And one name read and nobody really cared_

_Except a pretty little girl with a bow in her hair_

The ground is damp underneath her fingers, but she doesn't notice. It's cold, and there's the hint of snow in the air, but she doesn't feel it. She doesn't know how she feels. Numb, maybe. She feels like she should be out there, celebrating her schools utter dominance on the field, but she can't bring herself to move. Not when she'll have to go home and face her parents, face the letter that's been centre stage on her desk ever since it arrived. That's what she doesn't get. She doesn't understand. They said he was coming home. They said that… and now he's dead. And she only knows, she only find out at a stupid school football game. A list of names. That's it.

She had been standing next to Maddie, piccolo in hand after having finished the half time parade, had uttered the lords prayer, and sang the national anthem along with the rest of them. And the next thing she knew the principal, a person who wouldn't even hurt a fly, is delivering the most devastating blow. And the thing is, he probably doesn't know. She's shaking, her body wracked with sobs, and the wind is picking up, whistling through the bleachers, an ever increasing noise that drowns out the sounds of the spectators above her. She'd forgotten that the game was still going on. She should move, get up and make her way home. She's not needed anymore. Not by the marching band, not by Maddie

"She should be home by now," Jim frets, peering out from behind the curtains, "I've seen them all coming back."

"She's probably with Maddie. Stop worrying yourself." Johanna replies, pulling the curtain out of his hands and twitching it back into place. "She'll be home soon."

"I might go looking for her…" he muses, turning around and reaching for his jacket and his keys. "Maddie's a decent girl, but…"

"They're teenage girls. They've gone for a drink at the diner, or just celebrating winning. You're too over protective."

"No, I'm just concerned about teenage boys."

"Katie's heart is somewhere else. And she's not the type to stray from how she really feels. Teenage boys won't have a chance. And she can handle herself." Johanna insists, making a stand in front of the door. "And anyway, I thought you wanted her to give up on Rick."

"I did. When I thought she was going to get her heart broken. But he's coming back, and if he says he loves her… I've got to trust in that. Katie's not one to give her heart to anyone, so there's got to be something to him. We can learn to like him, right?"

"We can learn to like him. But in the mean time, let Katie have her fun. Sit down, and enjoy your evening."

Jim lets out a defeated sigh and sags into his favourite armchair. Kate likes it too, curls up in it with her head in a book and her long legs dangling in the air over the side. The number of arguments they've had over who gets to sit in it are too many to count. But right now, Jim would gladly give up the chair if it meant his daughter would sit in it. He doesn't know what it is that's making him so agitated, a fathers instinct that something's wrong, but he can't stay still. He jiggles his foot when he's trying to read, taps his pen when he tries his hand at the crossword. But nothing works. Nothing distracts his mind from the notion that there is something terribly wrong. And it's only confirmed when there's a knock on the door. He scrambles to open it, and Johanna, who pretends that she's not worried at all, is only moments behind him.

"Mr. Beckett," Maddie pants, and she looks like she's been running, "you've got to – it's Kbex – Katie, she's – "

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's Rick. I think – they were doing a list of everyone who's died, and Mr. Beckett – he's dead. They read his name out and Kate she'd run off before I even noticed. I don't know where she is. Everyone's looking for her, but we can't find her. "

Jim is reaching for his coat before she's even finished talking, and Johanna is already pushing him out of the door. "I'll stay, just in case she comes back."

Jim turns to his wife, tries to swallow the panic that is rising in his throat. "Jo…"

"We'll get through it. She'll… just… just go get her. Bring her home safe."

Kate can hear people calling for her. Maddie first, louder than everybody else, she can be heard from the other side of the stadium and then there's Kevin Ryan, the halfback, with his blue eyes and Irish charm he's the one most of the girls lust after, and then he's gone, replaced by Javier Esposito, the smooth talking Latino, and then Roy Montgomery, the guy who dresses up as a beaver every game and never fails to keep the crowds entertained. And then he's gone too, faded into silence. The game has long finished and she still hasn't moved. She can't feel her feet, the thin canvas shoes she's wearing not doing much at all to protect her from the cold. There's a longer period of silence, half an hour at best, and she thinks everyone's given up and gone home, but then it starts up again. Call after call, shout after shout, and then there's a recognisable voice among them. She tries to shout out, tries to get their attention but she can't make any noise. Her throat is clogged with thick, cloying emotion, the knowledge that he's dead, that he's not coming back, pressing down on her like a thick blanket of suffocating air. She can't move, can't talk, all she can do is try and breathe.

She closes her eyes, just for a second, and when she opens them the voices are closer. So much closer. Had she drifted off? She does feel… tired. She could just curl up and go to sleep and wake up and maybe all of this is just a bad dream. Maybe. She closes her eyes again, jerks them open when there's someone close. So close.

"Katie!"

There's only two people in the world who call her Katie, only two people who she could possibly want to see right now. That's her father, her dad, the one man she can always depend on, and he's right there. Metres away, but she can't draw attention to herself. There's no way she can call out. But there is one way. One sure fire way to get his attention. So she takes the deepest breath she can, gathers her strength, and screams.

"Katie. Katie, sweetheart." Jim pushes his way through the undergrowth that's crowding the underneath of the stadium until he finds the huddled, shivering shape of his daughter. "Oh, Katie. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She looks up at him in the darkness, and even in this dim light, he can see just how this has affected her. And suddenly, he hates it. He hates the army and the war, he hates this country, he hates Vietnam, he hates all of the people who made this possible, because they don't see it. They don't see the effect it has on everyone, they can't see his daughter right now. His daughter, who was normally so happy and cheerful, so full of energy and wit and humour, now looks like she's had her heart ripped out of her chest and stamped on and ripped apart by an unknown force.

"Dad…" she chokes out, and he sinks to his knees, pulling her towards him. "Dad, he's dead."

She's freezing and he takes no time in stripping off his jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders. There's noise behind him, Maddie and Ryan he thinks, quiet and waiting, and then there's a hand on his shoulder. Firm, and reassuring, he turns and finds the dark eyes of Javier gazing back at him, already pulling his football shirt off. Kate looks up at him with dull, lifeless eyes as her friend tugs it down over her head. She doesn't even attempt to get her hands in the sleeves.

"I'll carry her." He offers, looking at Jim with kind eyes. "Where's your car?"

"By the front entrance." Katie's arms are tight around his neck when he tries to move away so Javier can get his arms under, but she seems to have lost all strength in her arms and it doesn't take much to pry her away.

Javier has no trouble in hoisting her up into his arms, she seems so thin and frail in them, dwarfed by his shirt, and Jim can do nothing but follow after.


End file.
